


Decompression

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Draco Malfoy, M/M, Obsession, Part of Series, Pre-Slash, Teasing Ron, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Malfoy is not quite so dignified as he'd like the world to believe. Until one day his private, khm, endeavours make him stumble upon a dirty little secret his "favourite" redhead (not!) is most anxious to hide...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decompression

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea while driving - yeah, I do drive a lot and it does get exceedingly boring - I had a lot of fun putting it on paper. As the rest of my work, it's hardly perfect or complete, but I chose to post it anyway. If I'd waited until my stories were perfect I'd never publish anything anyway.;) I hope you can enjoy, I know I did.  
> And for this one I've actually got myself a beta - what can I say about most wonderful [wwmrsweasleydo](/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/)  
> that you don't already know? Hardly anything, but just as a reminder: she's super-kind for doing this and I am profoundly grateful.
> 
> Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful mind of JK Rowling, I play for fun, not profit...

Draco Malfoy was rubbing one out. And – a sad truth be spoken - not the first one that day either. Technically speaking - should one bother to count the morning glory - it might not even have been his second one… and the way this day was going, it most shockingly appeared as if  _this_  one was not going to be  _the last_  one either. It was, after all, only noon. Shocking, indeed.  _Quite_  mortifying.  
  
Well,  _yes_  – yes,  _of course_  he was properly ashamed of his apparent…  weakness for self-pleasuring – but what else was a teenage boy - a powerless hostage to all those crazed hormones - supposed to do!? Private meetings with his fist were, after all, one of the rare true pleasures he was left with in this  _murder_  of a year! Outside the door of this empty Hogwarts bathroom there were expectations, suspicions, alliances to make, enemies to defy, delicate rules to follow… and in here, in this empty stall, it was just him, his wonderful obedient hand, dutifully following the curves and pits of his imagination, and his swollen prick, dripping in pursuit of pleasure, providing so desired release at his bidding. It was beautifully, exquisitely simple. And he was becoming addicted.  
  
A brief unwelcome thought entered his mind, a thought of what would Father have to say if he ever saw him like that, his expensive robes recklessly open down the middle, panting and making those shameful helpless sounds, his fist tightly wrapped around his engorged needy shaft, pumping with abandon, making him unable to resist his own body… but he banished the sacrilegious thought quickly, because it was… oh, for Merlin’s sake, it was unsettlingly arousing,  _alright_?! – God, he really was a pervert! A sick, corrupted pervert he might be, but he was not so far gone as to wank to a thought of his own Father, to hell with him!  
  
He was just… he'd just come from spying on a Quidditch practice of the Gryffindors and what he saw there  _infuriated_ him… They weren’t honestly considering giving carrot-head a chance, were they?! Yes, it would surely exponentially improve the Slytherin’s chances of winning a cup this year – but even with that in mind, another Weasley on a team was just a disgrace! And the most pathetic one of the Weasley mob at that! No dirt-poor Weasley and their shabby attire should  _ever_  be allowed near such a noble sport as Quidditch and  _that_  particular Weasley… it was just preposterous and for some reason it pissed him off beyond belief to watch a redhead mount a broom and head for the loops. Of course, in the end Granger had to cheat to get him on the team, but clearly she was so desperate to please her lover-boy that she didn’t even think twice about cheating, the goody-two-shoes! Draco did manage a few well-pointed insults that made the Gryffindor’s ears burn as bright as lava, before Hooch threw him out, the old biased over-protective cow – but it was nowhere near enough to vent his anger!  
  
Grrr, just thinking of the Gryffindors got him all frustrated and bothered and he desperately needed to take the tension off for once. Well, once more. Oh, screw it, who’s counting anyway?! It was just… he was under a lot of pressure and somehow it was making him perpetually, desperately horny these days…  _God_ , was he ever so horny! His hormone-befuddled mind found innuendos in everything around him – casually thrown words, every innocent look, spontaneous little actions no one thought through or twice about –  _everything_ , all of it, his fucked up mind revamped it all into food for his private sessions with himself.  
  
Perhaps it was time to get himself a girlfriend. There was no shortage of willing candidates around – Pansy, for one, expressed her interest multiple times in no uncertain terms. And then there were others. Millicent tried to smother him with her motherly bosom on every encounter. Daphne was all out to impress him with her vicious tongue. And not only the Slytherins either. They were all around him and all over him – but none, that would spike his interest. They were all so… _bland_ , weren’t they? So ready to impress him, so easy to please with a compliment or merely an absence of a harsh word…  And bland and compliant just didn’t do it for him.  
  
He was part Black, they were all about the fire and defiance. No matter how hard Father tried to emphasise the importance of presenting the world with an impeccable, frosty appearance, Draco knew that deep down inside he was as passionate as they came. There was no point lying to himself about it, he had to work too hard to keep the little explosions of temper under the surface in his daily encounters. He thought perhaps he wouldn’t have found himself in the empty bathroom stalls so often, if he wasn’t required to keep his temper in check at all times. If he could just let go every once in a while… scream at those he was desperate to scream at, hex the ones that pushed his buttons on purpose, just to see him lose it and make a fool out of himself…  
  
_Like Potter and his cronies_. God, he was  _desperate_  to teach them a lesson! His dick got hard at the very thought of humiliating the bespectacled bastard that was making his life a living hell just by existing. And then the skinny wanker had the audacity to  _stalk_  him! As if he wouldn’t be able to notice! Son of a Death Eater here,  _hello_?! Most of their childhood games were made up of stealth and reconnaissance; they could spot being tracked blindfolded! And  _this_  was supposed to be a Saviour of the wizarding world?! Puh-lease…  Some Saviour!  _Lucky_ , that’s what the half-blind git was, and that was the whole story! When the time comes the Dark lord will have him for breakfast in five different plates and won’t even burp once he’s done with him! If four-eyes and the ridiculous members of his circus were the only hope of the wizarding kind against Vol… oh, You-know-who! – then the wizarding world was already doomed as far as Draco was concerned.  
  
He might have stood a chance if he chose his alliances better – but honestly, what was he going to do in the face of the Dark Lord with a Mudblood and a blood-traitor as a back-up?! The Mudblood – well,  _perhaps_  one could understand Potter taking her on board – he couldn’t afford to be too particular about the blood-matters, being a half-blood himself and well, she was rather smart… Oh,  _alright_ , she was bloody brilliant and not halfway bad-looking since she grew into herself, so Potter was probably banging her… or hoping to, since one could spot from another planet she only had eyes for one guy - and it was not Potty.  _The fucking blood-traitor_. What on Merlin’s bloody Earth could Potter  _ever_  expect to gain from keeping company with Weasley?!  
  
Just thinking about the lanky red-head made Draco’s blood boil and his fist gripped tighter around his swollen shaft. That bloke was a right menace! What a  _joke_  of nature was it to make someone like Weasley a pure-blood!? He was the last of the last, the most miserable, pathetic, god-awful person on this planet! What Potter saw in him, was beyond Draco….  
  
First of all, he was  _dumb_. Everybody knew he was no brain-trust, even his closest friends pointed out time and time again how oblivious he was. Alright, perhaps he was borderline-mad chess-genius, having beaten McGonnagall’s bewitched chess-set as a first-grader, but that was nothing but a glitch in his otherwise widely-recognised stupidity. Yeah, Weasley _was_  stupid… if nothing else, he was stupid for following a half-blood with a death-sentence looming over his head, rather than hanging out with someone from a nice respectable pureblood family, such as… God forbid that  _he_  should ever hope to keep company with the likes of Weasley, stupid crazy fucked-up brain, where did that thought come from?!  
  
And he was  _ugly_! God, was he ever so ugly! Those terrible freckles… like a giant rash over that massive hard body; specks of gold peaking out of those worn-out sleeves and over the stretch of a creamy stomach his too short robes could no longer cover… creeping up that endless neck, all the way up to those electric blue eyes, clashing with that horrible messy brilliant red hair… That boy’s never seen a comb up close in his life, Draco was willing to bet his fortune on it, and sometimes his fingers would just itch to sink into that silken sea of fire and thread through it, trying to make sense and order out of its warmth…. Oh, God, dear God, he was going crazy… he was just so incredibly hard and horny he could no longer think straight…  
  
And even the name… his name was awful. Who names their child like that?!  _Ronald Billius_ … what a wreck of a name…. now, how on Merlin’s bloody earth did he even know his full name!? Oh, screw it, he must have picked it up in one of those 10-inches-thick books on pure-blood family lines Father was making him learn by heart.  _Nevermind_. The name was  _stupid_ , that’s what mattered. There were plenty of good distinguished names around that a pure-blood family could name their offspring – and that brainless twat ended up as Ron…  _Ron_ … RonRonRon…. Oh, yes, just like that… no, wait,  _what_?!  
  
What kind of a god-awful name was that… Ron… oh, that felt good… Godfuckingdammit, what the hell was that!? Why was his body responding like that… just saying that terrible… awful… god, help him… stupid name… Ron… ohgodohfuckingod, why was this happening… Ron…. ronronron, oh fuck… he wasn’t… he couldn’t be…. Ronronronronron…. fuckingRon, fucking redheaded hot-tempered motherfucker that just had to look at him with those fierce blue eyes and made his blood boil, made him want to pounce on him and get him underneath…. Ron, Ron, Ron… writhing beneath him, those hot muscles moving against his, those impossible blue eyes staring at him in heat of mutual hatred… oh, god motherfuck, Ron, yesssss… those silken strands of fiery hair tangled in his fingers, pulling them back, revealing that long neck, begging to be licked… Ronronronronron… bringing him closer, closer to that soft red mouth, those lips that just had to taste sweet and fresh and they would open and welcome him and…  
  
“Ron!!!” he yelped out loud, unable to stop himself, unable to stop the strands of pearly come spurting out of his cock while he was pumping out his frustrations, his fantasies, his defeat. His knees no longer held him and he sunk down on the floor, still staring blankly at the empty wall in front of him. His mind was empty. He was mortified. What. _The hell._ Just happened?! He didn’t just…  _did he_!? He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t! What fucked up cog in his mind went awry to make him think of Weasley –  _of Weasley_ , of all people!! - while he was wanking?! He came - and God, did he ever come! - shouting his name, his god-awful horrible name he despised with all his heart!  _Ron_ …. oh, you stupid motherfucking body, _please_!!! Please, stop flushing and jerking every time this terrible mess of the hormone-enslaved brain brings up his name!  
  
No. That was just… no. Not acceptable. He will forget about it this minute and never let go of himself so spectacularly again. Clearly, his brain needed some fresh breeze of common sense. He needed to go out of this abomination of a school if only for a day, to clear his mind and get away from it all. And he’d be restored to his normal self promptly.  
  
With shaky knees Draco Malfoy got up and tried to make himself presentable, without daring a thought in the direction of what made him an unprecedented mess to begin with. He turned a corner behind the stalls and chanced a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. He could barely recognise himself. His eyes were alight with a silver glow, his cheeks, usually marble-white, were tinted pink and one could almost see the crazy heart beating against his chest. He looked almost feral. And, oh,  _so alive_. He couldn’t stop staring at himself; the man in the mirror was a stranger to his usual impeccable self. If only thinking about Weasley made him look like this…  
  
_No_. He wasn’t going there. He simply wasn’t ready to allow his confounded brain think  _those_  thoughts. He would forget about this _… glitch_  in his clearly out-of-control imagination and he would do it now. He was a Malfoy after all. They could do anything. They could do  _without_  anything. They could…  
  
The door opened swiftly and a tattered bag came flying through: “… catch up with you right away. You go ahead I just need to piss like a drunk hippogriff.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and cursed his not-so-lucky stars for throwing Weasley – and yes,  _that very one_ Weasley, in all abundance of the lot! – his way along with his impressively appalling vocabulary. But perhaps it was a good thing. Maybe seeing the… inappropriate object of his god-awful wanking session in person was just the thing he needed to cure himself from what could become a very bad habit.  
  
The redhead was obviously in a hurry and didn’t seem to notice him at all and Draco intended to keep it that way, so he pressed his body closer to the wall as if trying to melt with it. He succeeded in going unnoticed as Ron headed straight for one of the stalls and a moment later Draco could hear a sound of a zipper and a small sigh of relief – but none of the sounds that usually accompanied the man eager to relieve himself. It took Draco a moment to realize what it meant. And then he  _heard_  them. He heard  _another_ kind of sounds, those he was all too familiar with, the sounds of flesh sliding against flesh and the soft undoing moans of need and pleasure. Weasley was wanking. He - was  _wanking_. No more than five feet from him.  
  
Draco’s first impulse was to run. This… was disgusting. This… it couldn’t be healthy if he stayed. He couldn’t stay. But he couldn’t move either. Somehow he felt rooted to the floor. He tried to unglue his eyes from the forbidden stall that currently held his imagination and  _all_  his senses captive only to find himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror. And that man was still there. The stranger. With gleaming silver eyes, so alike his, but not cool and composed … just every bit predatory. With hitched breath. And another raging hard-on robes could no longer conceal. And the man in the mirror lifted his hand and touched his own flushed cheek with shaky fingers as if to check if he was real.  
  
The sounds from the stall were becoming more desperate. “Bastard… you fucking bastard… oh…” Weasley was moaning. So - a boy. No girl was ever going to be called “a bastard”. A boy, possibly a man. But Draco already knew that. Everybody knew about his obsession with Krum. Everyone but that half-blind bespectacled git could see Weasley had the hots for him, following him around like that. Any second now, he would say his name. He would ruin Draco. Cause more than anything Draco wanted to be in that stall now, kneeling in front of that gorgeous swollen prick and have himself showered in his come. He… needed it. He needed to taste him. He needed…  
  
“Malfoy… you fucker… god, Draco…  _fuck_ … “. Desperate yelp and a thud as if someone just collapsed against the wall. And the world came to a halt. This was… he was dreaming. Any time now he would wake up in his bed sweaty and panting and fucking soaked in his come… just another wet dream… about a faceless redheaded man. His favourite. Who just got a face. A very freckled – oh, fuck it! – most incredible face with the most astonishing blue eyes in this world and the full red mouth that could have him reduced to begging if it had only ever opened for him and taken him in. Which just happened. Weasley had said his name. No, not said.  _Yelped_. As if he couldn’t help it. Weasley was hard for  _him_.  
  
With this one word Draco’s world has changed. And it gave him wings. His hand automatically slid down to cup his hard-on and he knew what he wanted to do.  _This_ … he couldn’t let go of this. He was beyond thinking straight. He needed Weasley… Ron, he needed him to know. Every last bit a Slytherin, even when he was acting on his impulses, he moved towards the door like a shadow and opened it with ceremony as if he had just come in.  
  
“Just get the fuck away, Vince, I can’t possibly care for your idiocies at the moment.  Give the man some private time, for Merlin’s sake, …” he blurted the first thing that came to his mind and slammed the door behind him. He whispered a  _Colloportus_ , just loud enough for the redhead to hear - and then held his breath. This was Weasley’s chance to leave the game. He just needed to make his presence known and this would all be over before it even began. Not a sound. He knew it. Weasley just didn’t have it in him to walk out with his head held high, right past the boy he’d just wanked over.  
  
So Draco moved forward before he lost the nerve to do what needed to be done. He slipped in a stall right next door to the one that harboured the redhead and closed the door. Showtime. He closed his eyes to focus, but really, he shouldn’t have bothered. Just the thought of the beautiful shagged out boy that kept on invading his dreams, being so close to him, about to listen to his most private confession  - that very thought was enough to get him going… god, he really was a pervert, wasn’t he?  _Whatever_. Whatever got him there. He was a Slytherin. He doubted there ever was one that wasn’t a bit of a pervert.  
  
He slid his hand inside his robes and felt his engorged shaft pulsating with life. Rubbing it lightly produced just the right amount of those undoing sounds that he knew were going to haunt the redhead in his dreams. He let out a small sigh and made a point of opening his robes without discretion. He wanted Ron to be able to visualize just about everything he was about to do to himself.  
  
“Oh… fuck… yes… like that…” Behind the closed eye-lids he imagined Weasley boring holes into the panel that stood between them, desperately willing it to go away so he could watch… and see Draco’s hand slide slowly down the length of his cock, collecting small pearly drops at the end with each stroke, spreading the moisture down the silken hot surface, coming back to the swollen purple head begging for attention, picking up speed and erratic rhythm as it moved…  
  
“Yes… god, yes… need you… fuck, why the fuck I can’t have you…  want you… so bad… want your touch…  _here_ … your fingers making my skin crawl… your mouth on my neck… feeding off my pulse… those beautiful big hands cupping my arse… bringing us closer… sliding against each other… rubbing our cocks together… god, I need you… I want to fuck you so bad it’s making my balls burst…  I’d let you have me, I’d spread myself open for you… for your gorgeous big cock…. ready to fuck me in my tight puckered hole… oh, I’d feel so good around you… so tight and hot… I’d let you stretch me… have you buried up to your balls inside me…. Then I’d let you ride me… fuck me into the wall if you like… anything… anything for you…  if only I could stare…  down those fucking incredible blue eyes of yours… while your hard arse drives into me… Sometimes you just look at me… across the hall… and I’m ready to come for you…  I want to watch your face… when you spill inside me… want to wrap my fingers in your fucking gorgeous fiery hair… when I come… just dig in while I’m screaming … your name…  Ron, motherfuckingshit, Ron!!!”  
  
For a moment there he saw black as his cock exploded, but even through his ecstasy he could hear a muffled gasp. He was looking out for it. And it definitely came. Mission complete: one redhead floored stupid. The blond had no way of knowing what the Gryffindor was thinking, but whatever it was, he must have been shocked out of his wits. Good. He needed him right there, shell-shocked, unable to make a move.  
  
And now he needed to do this right. This… he couldn’t be responsible for this, the thought of  _this_  ever becoming something scared him almost as much as the thought of nothing ever coming out of it put him on edge. He was doing it already, over-thinking it, weighing all the options and he was inevitably on his way to fuck it up. No, this time it was down to Weasley, Draco would make sure of that.  
  
Drained and with shaky legs he somehow managed to get up on his feet and whispered, albeit none too quietly: “Weasley… you bastard… you’ll be the end of me…”  
  
He got out of the stall with enough ceremony to make a point he was leaving and then stopped abruptly by the tattered bag.  
  
“Weasel, you twat, you’re unbelievable… “ he murmured as if to himself. “You can’t even keep your bag on you, you brainless fuckwit… Why the fuck am I losing sleep over you, I’ll never understand… I should hide it, really, throw it in the lake, but as it is…”  
  
He kneeled down by the bag, poked around it for a while – “ _honestly, Weasley, what a mess!_ ” – until he brought out a piece of parchment and he scribbled some words on it hastily. He didn’t sign it. That would so  _not_  be him. Ron would know who it was from anyway and Draco could pretend he wanted to have his identity hidden. If Weasley didn’t want to do anything about it… then his reputation was safe, though the thought made him inexplicably sad and frustrated.  
  
Perhaps nothing should ever come out of this…  _mess_  that seemed to have a common denominator in some sort of mad inexplicable mutual attraction. But for reasons he didn’t want to contemplate over, Draco desperately wanted to give it a try. And he was hoping the redhead was up to it as well. He now knew who to go to – and if he was willing to make the first move…  
  
Draco knew he would never miss a chance like that. And he was done wondering why because it was irrelevant and frankly, quite irritating. For some obscure, obscene reason his mind thought that obsessing over Ron Weasley was a great idea and he was in no mood to oppose. Something inside him craved the heat and the passion and the fight Ron brought along and Draco was comfortable enough with himself to know that he needed it. And if Ron wasn’t up to the job, perhaps he’d have to find another way, twist his arm into coming forward... He wouldn't be looking for another boy. Not for quite a while if he knew anything about himself. Malfoys were… very one-sided once their preferences became clear.  
  
He walked out of that bathroom with his head held up high, strangely alive and elated as if the world out there suddenly held a whole new appeal. The air smelled sweetly of hope and autumn and for the first time this year Draco felt like flying.

~                                                                                                                    

And in the empty Hogwarts bathroom a certain dumbfounded redhead stood above his bag as if he was encountering an explosive device. He almost felt like probing it with his foot, knowing what it contained. But instead he took a deep breath and mumbled to himself:  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake Ron, you’re a Gryffindor, you can’t have that randy bastard fuck with your mind like that. C’mon let’s do this… see what innovative way the git found  _now_  to insult my mother…”  
  
With a sigh he kneeled down and noticed – with no small amount of wonder – that the blond had managed to arrange his things much more neatly. Seriously - Malfoys and their sense of the appropriate! Ron just rolled his eyes up and went to look for the note. It was hard to find – clearly the Slytherin didn’t want to make it obvious to anyone that might randomly come across the abandoned bag. If Ron hadn't heard him scribble something, he might not have found it until it fell out by chance – and right now that thought scared him as much as his curiosity drove him to find the damn thing!  
  
He finally spotted a neatly folded piece of parchment in his History of Magic book – it seemed that Malfoy thought it would be the safest there, because, seriously, no one in their right mind would  _ever_  willingly open  _that_  book, the very sight of it tended to make Ron sleepy, that’s just how exceedingly boring it was.  
His fingers shook when he spread it open and for a moment there he closed his eyes, making himself ready for anything the parchment had to say. It was Malfoy, after all, nothing should really come as a surprise. Except for a moment there, when the blond screamed his name in ecstasy, Ron actually lost most of his marbles. Here goes nothing, then…  
  
Ron opened his eyes and for a moment the words just danced in front of his eyes unintelligibly until he focused and actually read what it said. Ready his ass. One could never be ready for that. It wasn’t insults. It simply said:  
  
“I found your bag – you really should be more careful with your stuff! – and it seems like a perfect opportunity to tell you a few things I have no other way of communicating. Before I go on – you do realize this is a boys’ bathroom? Good, just as long as we’re clear on that… Now, what I have to say…  
I can’t stop thinking about you. I dream about you all the time and yes, those dreams as well. I want you so bad I can’t think of anything else. It’s fucking up my life and I can’t go on like that. I saw you fly today and I almost came in my pants. That’s how bad I have it. I wanted to sell it to myself that I hate you, but it’s just not working out anymore. I sure as hell don’t know what this is, perhaps it’s just the teenage hormones messing with me, but I’ve never felt like this before about anyone. You’re the only one. So…  
I need to know if you’d ever give us a chance. I’d like that. I’d like more than anything, but I’m not in a position to make the first step. Coward? Perhaps, but there’s a reason you’re in Gryffindor and I’m not. So if you’re interested – Astronomy Tower, tomorrow, at 11? Not morning, of course. I can’t make you any promises, except that I’ll make it worth you a while. Just… don’t make any plans for the night, I intend to keep you busy.  ~~I can’t imagine being able to keep my hands off the best arse in England.~~  
And if you’re not coming… could you please stop looking so goddamn sexy!? Please? I might need to get myself a girlfriend and I’d really like to avoid that if I can.”  
  
Ron couldn’t help it, he dropped the note and started to laugh hysterically. This… was Malfoy at his finest. It didn’t need to be signed, it just  _oozed_  malfoyness out of it. Arrogant, self-confident, with absolute disregard for repercussions. He might not have guessed who it was from if “the bathroom incident” hadn't happened, simply because he would never in a million years have thought Malfoy would want to have  _anything_  to do with him. It just didn’t compute. But since it was incredibly, undeniably him – so was the note. He couldn’t prove it, of course. It was written on his own parchment, with his own quill. People would just laugh at him if he ever tried to tell anyone the haughty Slytherin wrote this.  
  
He wasn’t going. Of course not. It could only be a trap. Or something. And even if it wasn’t – he was Harry’s friend and he'd chosen his side. He couldn’t help it if his anger, frustration and hatred for the blond somehow got translated into a massive hard-on every time Ron thought about getting even with Draco Malfoy. He was just fucked up. He’ll get over it. And he wasn’t going. Nah. Not ever.  
  
“Ron? Oh, there you are! Are you alright, mate? I thought I’d lost you to some massive attack of digestive problems!” Harry. And his ever so elegant wording. You’ve gotta love the man.  
  
“I’m fine now,” mumbled Ron, trying to fight a rush of blood creeping up his face. “Just a bit too much excitement, you know…”  
  
“Yeah… it’s not every day that you make it to the finest Quidditch team Gryffindor has ever had!” Harry hugged him across the shoulders, and tried to mess up his hair with friendly affection, which was hard, because Ron was a good head and a half taller.  
  
“Harry… erm… I was wondering… is there a chance… do you need your Invisibility cloak tomorrow evening?” the redhead blurted out, simply feeling his face bathing in all that embarrassing tomato red colour.  
  
“Whatever for…?” Harry looked at him with genuine surprise. And then it dawned on him. “Dear God, they’re like vultures, aren’t they?! Seriously, you’re on the team for half an hour and already you’ve got girls throwing themselves at you by the dozen! Fred and George told me the players always get to pick!”  
  
“No, it’s not like that, it’s just….” Ron shut his mouth abruptly, realizing that he was messing up. If Harry thought he was going out with one of the eager Quidditch supporters, that just might save him from a pathetic attempt at lying. And he _was_  always pants at lying.  
  
“So which one is it? No, don’t tell me… Let me guess. It’s Lavender, isn’t it?!” He looked at the redhead sideways, noticed his bright facial colour and clapped his hand happily on his thigh. “I knew it! I knew it the moment I saw Hermione throw… erm, never mind me… Good jugs on that one, mate, if you don’t mind me saying so. ”  
  
“Hm-mm…” managed Ron, about three seconds from passing out. Seriously, if the blood didn't stop rushing into his head, the top would come off like a geyser. Why was he doing this to himself!? And for Malfoy of all people?!  
  
“So…” he cleared his throat. “Can I borrow it?”  
  
“Goes without saying, mate!” said Harry warmly. He didn’t probe further. He was well aware how insecure his best friend was when it came to girls. And Ron could seriously use some action... almost as much as his room-mates could use some sleep, his silencing charms were beyond poor.  
  
This time Ron gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, mate! Don’t expect any dirty details, though!” he elbowed him gently in the ribs and Harry pretended to be mortally wounded. “Moi?! Never! I’ll even help getting Hermione off your back for the evening,” he offered.  
  
“Hermione…? Why…?” Ron frowned.  
  
“Never mind,” said Harry quickly with a small sigh to himself. Seriously, of all the oblivious people on the planet, Ron took the crown. “Just make sure you have fun!”  
  
“I intend to,” mumbled Ron and as they finally made it out of the bathroom, hugged his best mate in one of his bear-like one-armed embraces, though not bothering to mess up his hair further – that would be entirely impossible, as Harry’s hair, in any given moment, looked as if he attempted to comb it with a firecracker.  
  
“Would you look at that now… the love birds,” drawled a cold voice behind them and Ron, not bothering to let go of Harry turned around to face the cold grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin was surrounded by his usual choice of cronies and for once he looked absolutely livid. “I wonder what Potter did  _now_  to make your face explode in such glorious colours of the sunset, Weasley?” he hissed, but as he waited for his gorillas to laugh, his eyes never left Ron’s face. “Let me guess… you look like a virgin on her wedding night… don’t tell me you just scored a kiss, carrot-head?”  
  
Among the cat-calls and hysterical giggles Harry moved in to pounce on the slimy blond git, but for some reason Ron felt his fingers close around his shoulders and held him in his place. He'd never felt so composed and in control under Malfoy’s provocations before and suddenly he knew just how to react to get back at the visibly pissed-off Slytherin. A good half a head taller, he looked him straight in the eyes and smirked:  
  
“Spot on, Malfoy… We just snogged stupid… apparently that’s an old Gryffindor house tradition – the Quidditch captain gets to take advantage of every new member of the team. Isn’t that right, Harry?”  
  
The raven-haired youth, who first looked at him as if he'd lost all of his marbles in one go, quickly picked up on the joke and nodded enthusiastically:  
  
“Yeah, it’s like…  _whatsitcalled_ … the right of the first night or some such rot. Now excuse us, I really need to go and ravage Ron here. I’m kind of desperate.”  
  
He put his arm around the redhead’s waist for good measure and pushed past the slack-jawed Slytherins who were too shell-shocked to stop them. Ron just caught the last spark of reason leave the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy as the blond positively bared his teeth and when Harry pulled him behind, one of his big hands somehow managed to catch Malfoy by the neck. The Slytherin visibly shivered when the momentum brought him closer to Ron and then the soft breath touched his ear for the briefest of moments:  
  
“Foreplay, Malfoy. Just for you.”  
  
And before Draco Malfoy could pick up his enraged melted brain off the floor, the Gryffindors were gone and only the echo of their laughter was left behind them.  
  
“What the fuck did the freckled freak want?” mumbled Crabbe, sounding confused. “Want me to fuck him up for you, Drake?”  
  
“Oh, how about  _yes_ , Vince. It’s just a small matter of  _catching_  him first, isn’t it?! Good luck, with the  _two left feet_  you have and his fucking endless… Just… oh,  _do_  shut up, you troll!” barked the blond, murder still deeply set in his grey eyes. “And for the last time,  _stop calling me Drake_  or I’ll hex your mouth shut! And don’t you  _dare_  follow me, you brainless brick, I’ve had enough of your nonsense for one day!” he hissed as he moved away quickly from his house-mates. He felt their eyes filled with disbelief and confusion bore holes in his back, but he didn’t give two shits about them on the best of his days and right now he was too bothered to care if they were all lying on the floor, mortally wounded. He turned the corner and kicked in the door of the first bathroom in his way. A moment later a screaming first-year-old came flying out, quickly followed by his bag and a livid: “… and  _stay_  out!”

God fucking dammit, he was ready to murder Weasel! Honestly, that dirt-poor redheaded idiot was going to be the death of him! The cheeky git! How he pulled him closer… close enough to smell that fiery warm hair… have those full red lips right next to him, tickle his ear with their sweet breath… oh… Perhaps it was time for another one, just so he could walk straight again… That bastard… that fucking-good-for-nothing gorgeous sexy Weasel… Ron… oh, that felt good…


End file.
